Lately, I’ve been writing more in longhand during the day with the intention of blogging my writing once I get home to the computer. Last week was a whirlwind of activity, though. This is what I meant to post Friday:
Seeing all of them in me
I took this picture the other day. I saw me, but upon closer examination saw my dad - the chin, the length of the nose, something about the way he holds his mouth. I saw the fullness of my mom’s face, the size of her eyes, the crease at the tip of her nose. I saw my sister gone lighter.
Cirque du so what
It’s been awhile since I espoused just why I.S. 666 and schools like it are bad for America, but a diatribe is long overdue. New York City Department of Education, how do I hate thee? Don’t make me count the ways.
In ye olde days of the 1990s, I went to a Texas public school in a small independent school district. Unfortunately, I think quite a few students were labeled early on and inappropriately tracked into less challenging classes and academic programs. Unfortunately, everyone knew everyone else and the town was very conservative with a before school prayer group and an annual visit from abstinence-touting holy roller, Ed Ainsworth. (I wish him many lost tax dollars and a number of painful experiences involving crying babies in movie theaters). My hometown isn’t a place to feel comfortable in your own skin if your skin happens to be liberal, suspiciously unique and creative, or gay.
Bowled over
Today is one of the last Sundays before spring officially begins, but the weather was beautiful. Unlike most Sundays, I actually got out of my pajamas before noon. I also dared to do something I haven’t done since I was in junior high - I went bowling.
Vox
My desk is riddled with post-its on which I’ve scrawled lists, thoughts, phone numbers, ideas, and my favorite, sentences I wish I had written. I read and excavate what I feel are the best sentences or phrases. It amazes me every time someone else has written something that so deeply resonates with me. Writing is a gift you give to the world (and hey, it’s also free therapy). Reading is a gift you give yourself.
Patrice O’Neal is one angry mofo
My redheaded pal Nick and I went to Caroline’s last night to see Patrice O’Neal do stand-up comedy. I discovered O’Neal one afternoon when I turned the tv on and watched Web Junk 20. What a pleasant surprise - something on snarky VH1 that’s actually funny. VH1 has become the snark channel in recent years and has desensitized a lot of people, one of them being me. Mo Rocca, you mad wack now.
A friendly state
I love being a Southerner in New York City. I don’t have an accent or close-minded conservative ideals - nothing that could be a social liability in this metropolitan blue state. People are always surprised when I reveal my Southern background.
Lost in the snow
You say “…but also…” in the raspy, halting voice of disclosure, but it sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
Saturday night at the grocery store
It’s Saturday night and the regulars are already there. They move to the beat, stand in lines to purchase drinks, and eye everyone who comes through the door.
